


Rescued from the Flame

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Caretaker Bucky, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, gratuitous use of pet names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20577767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: Steve hangs in there until he doesn't. Bucky is there to put his pieces back together.





	Rescued from the Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is a first for me for this fandom. I used to give poor Sam Winchester all my feelings and now I've tried to do the same with poor darling Steve. This is a purely cathartic and admittedly therapeutic necessity for me. It's been... rough lately. I'm sincerely hoping to feel a little lighter after this. 
> 
> Not sure it will resonate with anyone but just in case, here it is for your perusal. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, all errors are my own. 
> 
> Title from Chris Cornell's The Promise.

Steve struggled when he first came out of the ice. A lot. 

No friends, nothing familiar, completely out of place. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He thought it was going to be over for good. 

It was almost a blessing, finding himself in the Valkyrie with all those bombs. It was a way out. He hadn’t had time since it happened to properly process Bucky falling, or how he was supposed to carry on in a world without him. This opportunity felt like a mercy.

It never occurred to him that he would survive the wreck, much less wake up in a new century. 

Then Fury gave him something to hit besides an unending supply of punching bags, and gave him a ragtag group of people to connect with, and it– it didn’t go away, it just… got pushed aside. His new life started all at once and then didn’t seem to stop, and the next thing he knew, Bucky was alive, and Steve had a focus stronger than any he could’ve predicted. Little else mattered besides getting Bucky back.

Purpose is an excellent distraction.

Steve was breaking his friends out of the Raft when Bucky got taken out of cryo. Wakanda’s princess and their medical team are more amazing and sophisticated than Steve could have ever dreamed.

Getting Bucky back makes every moment of Steve’s unexpected second life worth it. When he returns to Wakanda as a fugitive, Bucky welcomes him with open arms. Bucky knows him, really, and it feels like picking up where they left off, no time between them at all when Bucky kisses him. For the first time since waking up, Steve is grateful to have survived the crash. He’s found his home and he has no plans to look back.

The time they spend in Bucky’s – _their_ – hut in the countryside not far from the palace is easily the best of Steve’s life, relaxed and lazy and without constant threats. Just _ living_. They haven’t had a chance to do that since before the War, and back then they had an entirely different world of problems. This, by comparison, is heaven. Waking up in Bucky’s arms every morning with nowhere to be, Steve really is living a dream. 

So he doesn’t understand, doesn’t even see it coming. 

They’ve stuck pretty close together since Steve got back, and they’d known a while now that Bucky would be due at the palace for a follow-up on his arm. It’s no surprise he’ll be gone all day, and there’s no rule saying Steve can’t join him, but somehow it feels right, letting Bucky do this on his own. Looking back now, maybe that’s when this started, when Bucky asked if Steve would be going with him. The realization they haven’t had much time apart, the panic that maybe they should, old insecurities from another lifetime, and Steve’s insistence that he’s fine to stay behind. 

Bucky looks good where he stands in their doorway, hair pulled into a small knot at the top of his neck, a few loose strands tucked behind each ear. Steve doesn’t think he could ever get tired of looking at Bucky, especially like this – relaxed, happy. Himself. 

“Steve, sweetheart,” Bucky’s tone tells Steve he’s been caught staring, and he blinks, shifting where he’s leaning against the table and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You okay?” 

“‘Course, Buck,” Steve says, shrugging when Bucky narrows his eyes and steps back into the hut towards him. “I’m fine.”

He sighs when Bucky stops in front of him, puts both his hands on Steve’s chest only to slide them down to rest on his hips. 

“Why don’t I believe you?” Bucky whispers, teasing as leans in to nudge Steve’s nose with his own, then kiss the corner of his mouth. 

Steve keeps his hands in his pockets. He knows if he gets them on Bucky he won’t let go, and the awareness he’s being ridiculous is only making it worse.

“Steve?” Bucky is serious this time, pulling back to look Steve in the eyes. 

“Bucky, I’m _ fine_. Please,” Steve makes himself laugh, for Bucky’s benefit. “Go on already.”

Steve kisses him quick. “You don’t want to keep the princess waiting.”

Bucky smiles against his mouth and seems somewhat appeased, enough to move back towards the door, readjusting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. 

He pauses as the threshold again. “Last chance to come with me?”  
  
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Steve does take his hands out of his pockets at that, and he shakes his head as closes the distance between them to give Bucky a playful shove. “_Go_.” 

“Alright, alright,” Bucky lets Steve move him, his own hands up in surrender. “I’m going.”

“Good.” Steve leans against the door frame to watch him now, arms folded over his chest. “I love you.”

Bucky spins on his heel, wearing a blinding grin that makes Steve’s stomach swoop, even after all this time. “I love you, too. I’ll bring dinner.”

“Okay,” Steve smiles and Bucky blows him a kiss, then waves as he turns around and walks away. His transport is already waiting for him on the other side of the hill, and he moves quickly now so as not to keep it any longer. Steve stays where he is long after Bucky is out of sight.

By the time he moves to go back inside, the vague feeling tugging at his stomach since he woke up is now a solid, heavy rock. His insides feel twisted and weighted and he’s on edge. He hasn’t felt like this since the first weeks after coming out of the ice and the realization is startling. Standing in the middle of their lodgings he gasps as his chest suddenly feels tight. Steve rubs at his sternum with one hand and makes himself sit down on the edge of their bed. 

Nothing happened. Nothing _ is _ happening, but Steve feels the low level buzz of adrenaline as though he were face to face with a fight, the tip of a knife already at his throat. 

He’s up again with the next breath, nervous energy making him flex his hands, squeeze them into fists, and start to pace. The hut is small even if Steve weren’t the size he is, but as it is he’s basically walking in circles. He shakes his head. He can’t keep doing this. It’s pointless and stupid and he doesn’t understand why his chest is aching like this. There is nothing _ wrong_. 

He quickly changes his jeans for some shorts, puts on his sneakers, and goes for a run.

He feels better almost right away, the rhythm of the movement and gentle exertion familiar and comfortable. He takes a deep breath, shakes it off, and tries not to think about anything. 

It works for a while.

The pounding of his heart and the rush of his blood in his ears starts to feel too loud. He feels a little queasy, and he tries to push through it, but then every crash of his foot against the earth starts to sound like crash landing on metal in his mind, bullets whizzing past, and he shivers violently with a chill. He shakes his head, blinks into the bright Wakandan sun shining high in front of him in an endless blue sky. He stumbles, the ground unsteady beneath him, rocking like the sway of a train. Except this isn’t– he isn’t– 

They’re inside the car, together again but only for a second. The heavily armoured soldier with HYDRA’s glowing blue bullets blows them apart. Bucky picks up Steve’s shield – it’s heavy and awkward, doesn’t sit right as he holds it to his chest, almost looks too big for him. Steve knows what's coming and cries out in the middle of an empty field. 

“Bucky, _ no! _” 

It’s going to happen and he can’t stop it. The blast forces Bucky back and out of the train where he clings to the peeled open metal of the car. Steve’s step falters as he dives forward but Bucky is already falling, out of reach, disappearing into the frozen air past Steve’s fingertips. 

“_No! _” Steve sobs and only realizes he’s not actually on the train when his hands and knees land in the dirt. He’s covered in sweat from his run and sun beats down on him but he’s shaking as if hypothermic, uncontrollable and violent. His whole body shudders as he slumps forward, twisting so his shoulder meets the earth instead of his face. 

“Bu-Bucky,” he cries, so overcome he can hardly breathe much less move. He curls in on himself on the ground, tension in his body almost painful with the way it shakes. He takes big, frantic gulps of air between sobs, tears soaking his face, and he’s out of control like he’s never been in his life. Bucky may as well have just died in front of him, ripped from just beyond his reach, for how sharply and genuinely he feels this pain. It's made impossibly worse by the knowledge that Bucky had lived, lying in agony at the bottom of that frozen ravine only to be retrieved by the enemy and made a prisoner of war. It should’ve been Steve who found him and brought him home. 

Instead, Steve slept under the ice while Bucky suffered unimaginably at the hands of HYDRA. 

Steve wails, a broken, grief-stricken sound, and buries his face in his hands. He tucks his knees up to his chest and surrenders, at the mercy of whatever is happening to him. 

\---

He wakes up with his face against the earth, dirt dry and crusty on his cheek. He feels woozy as he comes to, disconnected from his body which feels weak and jittery – not unlike how he occasionally felt before the serum when he was sick – and it’s a strange and distressing sensation. His limbs are heavy as he tries to move them, as if swimming through molasses, and it’s a struggle to push himself upright. His eyes feel swollen, and his breathing is laboured. 

Once he’s gotten to his knees, Steve squints up at the sky, guesses he’s been here about an hour, must’ve passed out. Panic starts to set in anew as he fights to take deep enough breaths, still shaking, scared that that could’ve happened at all and terrified that it’ll happen again.

He almost bites it as he gets to his feet. He’s lightheaded, and he has to brace himself with his hands on his knees, just trying to breathe through it until he can straighten the rest of the way up slowly. He manages eventually, but the ache in his chest starts to come back as soon as he does. The tightness makes his breath short, and his tremor in his hand is prominent as he raises it up to run through his hair. 

“I just… I gotta get back,” he mumbles aloud, just to ground himself. “One step… at a time.”  
  
He doesn’t run. But the fear keeps him moving as quickly as he dares to, as quickly as his wobbly legs will carry him. When the hut comes into view his relief is tangible, and Steve picks up the pace. 

He feels faint by the time he gets inside but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s back. He collapses onto their bed and the shivering returns full force, even though he manages to wrestle the blankets over him with uncoordinated, shaking hands. 

Steve hadn’t even noticed he was crying again until he pulled the blankets up to his face and the backs of his knuckles get wet. He sniffles, confused, and squeezes his eyes shut, turning to bury his face in his pillow. 

His teeth chatter like he can’t get warm and he just tries to breathe. In and out, in and out. 

Their bed smells of them, and when a part of his brain recognizes Bucky, Steve startles himself by whining. It’s a pathetic sound, and Steve is glad Bucky isn’t here to see him like this. He’s a goddamn mess. 

After he woke up, Steve felt like a zombie most days. Numb. He went through the motions of living, alone – the bare minimum – a shell of himself, emptier even than after a cross country tour as a dancing monkey before he had a chance to prove his worth on the battlefield. He’s never experienced anything like this, not then, not even before the serum when he was always ill and at the mercy of his asthma. This is something else. Something the serum doesn’t fix.

Steve pants as he lays there in the fetal position under the blankets, chest sore and his stomach in knots, tears wetting his pillow, just trying to breathe. Just breathe, try not to think about how long until Bucky comes back, and try not to worry if he’ll still be in this state.

_Breathe_.

\---

Bucky is so glad to be almost home– well, not home exactly. Bucky isn’t sure what home is anymore but if it’s anywhere it’s where he is with Steve.

Stepping out of the transport vehicle at the bottom of the hill, he breathes a big sigh of relief. Shuri is amazing, don’t get him wrong. He adores her. Owes her so much. T’Challa, too. And the palace is beautiful. But it’s still a palace and still a lab, and Bucky always feels unsettled to have his arm tinkered with, having to wrestle so blatantly with the reality that he’s part machine. It’s easier when he’s not in pieces on somebody’s table. 

He also hadn’t realized how spoiled he’s been – nearly every waking moment within arms’ reach of Steve these past few glorious weeks. Steve was probably right, it was good they got today’s break, but honestly, Bucky was antsy to get back before he even got to the palace. Steve seemed off this morning, from when they first woke up. Worse, by the time Bucky left. He’s probably fine, of course he is, but Bucky can’t help but worry. Worrying about Steve was his bread and butter, once upon a time. And that habit doesn’t seem so far away, despite all the years since, not with everything Shuri’s done to take the Soldier away from him and leave him with his own memories much fresher. 

Bucky’s got dinner wrapped up for them in his bag, ready to be shared, and as Bucky catches sight of their borrowed residence he starts to jog towards it, eager to lay eyes on Steve, and maybe his hands, and definitely his mouth. Dinner might have to wait. Hopefully Steve isn’t starving. 

He pulls open the curtain and steps inside, unable to contain his smile at being back.

“Steve, I’m–” Bucky falters, not seeing Steve anywhere, though his eyes are drawn to the large, blanket covered lump in their bed. Bucky’s stomach plummets as he looks and sees that the lump is shaking.

“Baby?” Bucky drops his pack to the floor and makes his way to the bed in two large strides, gently reaching for what should be Steve’s shoulder. 

At the touch, Steve startles, gasping brokenly and rolling onto his back towards him. He looks like _ hell._ His eyes are red and puffy, tracks of tears are visible on his skin and there’s– what is that, _ dirt_? 

“_Steve _,” Bucky reaches for his face with both hands, gently, and Steve’s eyes are unfocused and glassy as they seek him out. Steve reaches for him awkwardly with his closest arm though there’s a tremor in his hand. Steve is moving with a distinct lack of grace that Bucky attributes to feeling weak in a way he didn’t think was even possible for Captain America. 

Bucky is terrified.

“B-Buck,” Steve stutters quietly, and his chest is rising and falling in a choppy rhythm, too fast and short, like he’s– 

It hits Bucky all at once what he’s seeing and his heart absolutely breaks. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Stevie, sugar, I’m here. It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Bucky guides Steve’s searching hand to his face, holds it there with one of his own, then leans over him to pepper his face with quick, earnest kisses. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”  
  
Steve whimpers as Bucky kisses him, his breath hitching, new tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. 

“Shh, I’ve got you. Easy, honey.” Bucky wipes at Steve’s eyes with his thumb and then shifts, lying down to be Steve’s big spoon. He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, threads their fingers together, and holds their hands over Steve’s heart. 

Bucky’s seen Steve through all manner of illness and asthma but never seen him like this, caught in a full blown panic attack. Bucky had wondered, the odd time while they’ve been enjoying their reunion here, how Steve had been coping, being alive at this time, transplanted to a new world after going down in the middle of a war. Bucky’s only been out of cryo about two months now but he’s been having regular video calls with a therapist at the Palace, and even after everything Shuri was able to do for him those talks have been invaluable. When Steve joined him in Wakanda, he fell into Bucky so completely, so wholly, that Bucky worried what had kept him going before. 

He should’ve known.

He kisses Steve’s ear, then speaks to him softly, letting his lips brush over Steve’s skin. “Listen to me, Steve. You’re okay. This will pass. We’re gonna get you out of this. All you gotta do is listen to me. Breathe with me, alright? Nice and slow. Big, deep breaths. Feel me breathe. Steve, you know what to do.”  
  
Bucky is pressed snugly against Steve’s body from head to toe, their feet tangled together, and he makes his breathing audible when he next inhales through his nose on a count of four, holds it, and releases through his mouth for the same. 

“Do you feel me, Steve?” Bucky asks after a few breaths, and Steve nods weakly, loose as though someone cut his strings. “Okay, so breathe with me then, come on. I know you can.”  
  
Steve tries, he does. Bucky can feel the way his body fights him, makes it difficult for him to bring it in slow or hold it, wanting to trigger the panic again. It takes a few agonizing attempts, but eventually their breathing synchronizes. Bucky could cry he’s so relieved, hand to God. 

Once it feels good and steady, Steve stops shaking. He holds Bucky’s hand tightly where Bucky pins it to his chest, and when Bucky starts to kiss at his neck, nuzzling in behind his ear and breathing him in, dirt, sweat, and all, Steve even tilts his head a little to give Bucky better access. 

“So proud of you, baby, you did it,” Bucky murmurs against his pulse point, strong under his lips. Steve doesn’t answer but he gives Bucky’s hand a tight squeeze. “You’re here, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” 

Bucky can tell when Steve falls asleep, his fingers going slack between his own and his body getting heavy. His breathing slips into a deeper, natural rhythm. Bucky takes a deep breath himself, letting it out on a shaky exhale.

His beautiful Steve, always did have the biggest heart, and that sure as hell hasn’t changed. Bucky would spare him every pain if he could.

He slips out of the bed to properly look after their dinner, putting it away for later, and dares to get a warm cloth to clean up Steve’s face. He’s so exhausted after whatever happened today he doesn’t even flinch when Bucky tenderly wipes his face with barely there passes of the soft, damp fabric. 

How long had he been like that, to get worn out so thoroughly? Bucky’s heart _ hurts._

_ Steve_. 

Bucky places a ghost of a kiss on Steve’s mouth, then folds the cloth and places the clean side down as he lays it across Steve’s eyes, which will no doubt be sore when he wakes. He presses it lightly to ensure contact and keeps it there a long moment before taking it away, tossing it into their hamper. 

Climbing back into bed, Bucky tucks himself back in around Steve’s body like a parentheses. He has no intention of sleeping, only keeping watch, wanting to be reassured by the easy, full in and out of Steve’s breath, and the steady, regular thump of his heart under Bucky’s palm. While he waits, he thinks about what to say when Steve wakes.

\---

Consciousness comes to Steve slowly, then all at once. He goes from being vaguely disoriented, surrounded by firm warmth, to flashes of memory, Bucky falling, then waking up in the dirt. He startles and his body jerks as if to sit up, but there’s an arm across his chest that keeps him place. 

“Easy, pal.”  
  
Bucky’s voice is a welcome surprise. Last Steve remembered, he wasn’t here. It’s a blurry jumble, getting back to their hut, and he thought he dreamed Bucky coming home. 

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice is hoarse and Bucky shushes him quickly, but Steve is too busy moving, wiggling around in the bed to twist in Bucky’s arms in order to face him. “Bucky.”  
  
He says it again, sheer relief in the shape and sound of his name in his mouth, Bucky’s beautiful, perfect face in front of him on their pillow. “God, _Buck_.”  
  
Steve kisses him hard, hungry and desperate, and Bucky just lets him, though he moves his hand soothingly along Steve’s side as if to calm him down, eventually bringing his flesh fingers up to Steve’s face. He rubs his thumb across Steve’s cheek until Steve breaks their kiss to push into his palm. 

Bucky’s touch is grounding and real and Steve is comforted by it. When he finds that he’s in control, feeling refreshingly like himself and not like how he was after Bucky left, he opens his eyes to see Bucky watching him. 

“There he is,” Bucky whispers. “My best guy.” 

Bucky tips his head forward to rub their noses together, then gives them just enough space to be able to keep looking at one another. 

Steve feels suddenly shy, ashamed at how Bucky must’ve found him. He looks away, and brings his hand up to hold Bucky’s to his face, something to hide behind. 

“You alright, Steve?” 

Steve sighs. “Guess so. Now, anyway.”

Steve makes himself look at Bucky again, even though he feels pathetic.

“God, you scared me, sweetheart,” Bucky’s carefully composed features crack a little with the admission and then it’s Bucky burying his face in alongside Steve’s, hugging him fiercely. Steve swells with the feeling of safety that washes over him, wrapped tight in Bucky’s arms.

“‘M so sorry,” he says, muffled by Bucky’s shoulder, but then Bucky pulls back quickly to look at him.

“Don’t you ever be sorry for that,” he says, so serious. “I just hate that I wasn’t here. Honey, what happened? Can you tell me?”

Steve sighs and nods, though he shifts down a little to tuck in against Bucky’s chest. They wrap their arms and legs around one another as they’ve done countless times before, and Bucky plays with the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck while he waits for him to talk.  
  
Steve could never be anything but honest with Bucky, especially like this. He starts from the beginning, how he felt off when he woke up, and does his best to recount what happened after Bucky left, though the details are fuzzy. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just holds him, sometimes tugging a little at the hair wrapped around his fingers or pressing a firm kiss to the top of Steve’s head. 

It’s funny, being wrapped up like this. It’s somehow just the same as before everything got so _ big _ – wars, the world, and all of Steve – and it’s the most like himself Steve has felt since he woke up, right here at home with Bucky all around him. Thinking about how he feels now, and looking back at the way he’d been living – or not – before Bucky came back into his life, Steve is suddenly surprised he made it this far.

“...and then I woke up, and you really were here. I didn’t dream it.” Steve finishes quietly.

“I am here,” Bucky repeats, reassuring. “Not going anywhere.”

They cuddle like that in comfortable silence for a long while. Steve realizes that Bucky is letting him lead this one, waiting for him to say whatever he needs to say. 

“I just,” Steve huffs, drawing back to look up at Bucky. “I don’t understand why this is happening now. Everything is good. I mean, better than good. I have you, we’re together, we’re safe here–”  
  
“Stevie, that’s _ exactly _ why this is happening now.” Bucky cuts him off gently and Steve blinks up at him.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, when have you had the _ time_?” Bucky gently massages Steve’s neck while he talks, and Steve listens, all his attention on Bucky. “All the way back to my fall. You were in the middle of a mission. Then the middle of a war that you didn’t survive. The fact that you’re here is a miracle, Steve. You wake up and it’s been all this time but for you it’s nothing. You’re still carrying the weight of all the people you lost in the war _ on top _ of the shock of losing everything and nearly everyone you knew. Then you get thrown right back into the mix. Did you even have a chance to talk to anyone about it? Who did you have? I’m trying not to be too pissed at Fury right now but, Christ, Steve. You needed support! Maybe time– fuck, I don’t know. But I do know it’s been nonstop for you for the last four years and this is the first time to yourself you’ve had! It’s catching up with you because it’s never had a chance before. Tell me I’m wrong, sugar. You know I’m not.”

Steve feels a strange sense of understanding as all the pieces fall into place while Bucky lays it out, simple as anything.

Bucky is obviously waiting for Steve’s argument but all he can come up with is a muffled _ huh _ because what Bucky says really does make sense, at least to Steve. 

Bucky smiles at Steve’s acquiescence, that flicker of familiar smugness because he always expects something contrary from Steve Rogers. They settle back into their cuddle and then Steve swallows hard, his throat suddenly thick.

“Bucky,” his voice breaks. “What do I do?”

Bucky hums and hugs Steve close, nuzzles the top of his head. 

“You’re gonna talk to my Doc over at the palace, same as me. You’re gonna keep on keepin’ on, and I’ll be right here with you all the while. Gonna take care of you, Stevie. Same as always. You and me, darlin', we’re gonna be just fine.”

Bucky’s voice is so sincere, so sure, that Steve pulls back to look at him. Bucky’s giving him that soft smile, easy and bright, eyes crinkled in the corners and making Steve feel warm all the way to his toes, _almost_ as if today hadn't happened.

Steve grins back at him, raises an eyebrow. “You some kinda expert there, Barnes?” 

Bucky scoffs but it turns into a laugh as he shakes his head. “When it comes to you, Rogers? You’re damn right I am.”

Steve is nearly giddy with the truth of it, how good it is to be _ known _ the way Bucky knows him. And it goes both ways, being able to know someone like that, as thoroughly as he knows Bucky. He trusts him, with everything, with his life, and definitely with this, too. Whatever happens next, they’ve got each other, and Steve knows, now more than ever, that’s all he could ever need. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading <3 Comments and kudos are love!


End file.
